


Arms And The Man

by FloriaTosca



Series: Self-Indulgent Post AoU Gen 'verse [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Backstory, Banter, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Community: hc_bingo, Dogs, Gen, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prosthesis, Robots, Slice of Life, Snarky Bucky, Snarky Tony, comedic tactlessness, rhodey is an engineer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-06 22:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5433713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloriaTosca/pseuds/FloriaTosca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky's arm needs a tune-up.  Fortunately, he knows a couple of engineers.  Everyone is a smartass, Bucky meets a cute robot, and a few issues from the Winter Soldier's past get resolved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the hc_bingo prompt "forced body modification."

    It had been a good day, really.  Bucky was feeling remarkably cheerful and psychologically stable - by his usual standards, at least - and nothing had happened to mess that up.  It would have made him suspicious if the coffee maker hadn’t malfunctioned that morning and over-boiled the coffee.  Which Bucky drank anyway - he’d drunk a lot worse during the war.

    Bucky was feeling so damn sane that he took Steve up on his offer to spar.  Steve didn’t get many chances to practice fighting someone at his level, because Sam, Natasha, and Colonel Rhodes without the War Machine suit were relatively fragile normal people, Pietro may not have been normal but he was still pretty breakable, Wanda and Rhodes with the suit were ranged fighters, and Vision was goddamn robot Superman.  Bucky and Steve were pretty well-matched, but Bucky was usually reluctant to spar with Steve in case his old HYDRA reflexes resurfaced.  But that day, Bucky felt like he could handle anything, including the Winter Soldier popping up from the depths of his own psyche.  

    Bucky got through the sparring match with no compulsion to beat Steve’s big dumb face in.  Well, no more than any red-blooded man or woman would feel if they couldn’t get a solid hit in edgewise through that blankety-blank slab of star-spangled scrap metal while Steve indulged in a little clean-cut wholesome patriotic gloating.  “You don’t have to go easy on me, Buck,” Steve had said, smiling guilelessly, “I’m a lot more durable nowadays.”  

“If you insist, buddy.”  Bucky decided to change tactics.  Steve had never been much good at guarding his lower body - it was a miracle no HYDRA sniper had taken advantage and shot him in the thigh during the war.  Bucky tried to sweep Steve’s legs out from underneath him, and Steve dodged it with some flippy bullshit that he’d probably learned from Nat and practically launched himself into Bucky’s arms while Bucky was still off-balance, which led to them both landing in a heap on the gym floor.  Bucky’s left side took the brunt of the impact.  As he got up, Bucky felt a slight odd, grinding pain in his left shoulder, but he didn’t pay it any mind.  The metal arm had been through a lot worse.

After he showered and changed out of his workout gear, Bucky noticed that the fingers of his left hand were responding a little sluggishly.  This wasn’t unprecedented - the electronic components didn’t exactly like heat, although it normally took a lot more than a ten minute shower to slow him down.  Bucky assumed that the issue would resolve itself once his arm had some time to cool off, and he grabbed his dog and a collection of balls and flying disks and headed for the Avengers’ back forty with a determinedly light heart.  Bucky was having a good day, dammit, and he was not going to let a minor malfunction that was probably nothing spoil his fun.    

Punk loved the great outdoors.  Never mind that he was ten pounds of fluff and easy prey for any hawk, owl, bobcat, coyote, or particularly fierce weasel, the little idiot thought he was White Fang as soon as he got out in the woods.  Forests always made Bucky a bit nervous - too many hiding places for potential assailants.  But then, flat open terrain with no cover also made Bucky a bit nervous.  Hypervigilance is fun like that.  Bucky’s arm was still a little stiff, but more responsive than it had been, and who needed split-second reflexes to throw a ball, anyway, unless you were pitching in the World Series?  Punk did his usual routine of running full-tilt until he’d exhausted his last dregs of energy, and then collapsing on his side at Bucky’s feet - getting leaf litter inextricably matted in his fluffy coat - and whimpering piteously.  Bucky looked down at him, unimpressed.  “You know how far it is back to base, big guy,” Bucky said.  “We walked out here, remember?”  God, Bucky’s life really had changed if he was the person in charge of remembering things.

Punk rolled onto his back with his paws in the air and looked up at Bucky with big beseeching eyes.  “You think you can get around me by looking cute, Punk?” Bucky said.  “Well, you’re right.”  Bucky scooped the little dog up and carried him back until Punk made a miraculous recovery and started getting wriggly.

When Bucky was combing the bugs and leaf litter out of Punk’s fur, he noticed his arm stiffening up again, and a weird pinching feeling in his left shoulder.  Goddammit.  He must’ve squashed a nerve or something when he fell.  Bucky rolled his shoulders to try to unkink whatever the hell had gotten kinked up, and the stinging zap that traveled down his arm made him curse and crack the handle of the dog brush.  Punk jumped off his lap and squeaked with alarm.  “It’s okay, big guy,” Bucky said.  “Now come back here so I can comb the pine needles out of your ears.  How the hell did they get there, anyway?”

Bucky didn’t like to admit it, even to himself, but there was a strong possibility at this point that there was something wrong with his arm.  And not in a location that he could fix himself, even if the problem fell within the scope of Bucky’s mechanical knowledge and he could find the right tools in one of the labs.  Bucky had good situational awareness, but not the kind of ESP a guy needed to do delicate wiring jobs behind his own head.  Looked like there was nothing for it but to call in someone else.  And there lay the problem: Bucky loathed hands-on medical attention, and the fact that his left arm wasn’t the one he’d been born with didn’t make him any fonder of people messing with it.  More like the opposite, considering how Bucky got the damn thing in the first place.

Then there was the problem of finding someone who’d know how to help.  Bucky didn’t interact much with the Avengers’ support staff, with the exception of Dr. Cho, and he had no idea if anyone at the facility knew anything about high-end weaponized robot arms - or even normal prosthetics.  It wasn’t like he’d been there when they were hiring the techs and lab assistants.  But Colonel Rhodes was, among other things, an engineer, wasn’t he?  Bucky didn’t know him as well as the other Avengers because he was in and out a lot on Air Force business, but he seemed like a guy who knew his stuff.  Bucky resolved to ask, at least, and set off to talk to Rhodes before he lost his nerve, Punk trotting after him.

Bucky was a good tracker - it was one of the Winter Soldier’s few useful non-lethal skills - and it didn’t take him long to find Rhodes in one of the common rooms.  He was playing some video game that involved running around in robot armor that made the War Machine suit look dainty and blowing up everything in his path.  Bucky stood in the doorway feeling like an idiot, wondered why he had ever thought this was a good idea, and desperately wished he was safely back in his own room.  But then he felt an electric zap run across the back of his left shoulder and remind him why he was there in the first place.

Rhodes had run out of enemies for the moment and switched to destroying the scenery with gusto.  “Rough day?” Bucky asked, after Rhodes blew up a perfectly innocent chunk of urban landscape.

“I had meetings all morning,” Rhodes explained.

“That’s rough,” Bucky said.  Dammit, he used to be good at talking to people.  At least that’s what Steve said.  ‘Course, Steve had been about as smooth as the Rocky Mountains before the serum and wasn’t much better now, so Bucky wasn’t sure how qualified he was to judge.  Punk started fussing, and Bucky bent over - with zappy little twinges of protest from his left shoulder - and picked him up with his good arm.  “When you reach a good stopping place, I’ve got a hardware problem I’d like to talk to you about. Um, if you’re not too busy.”  Smooth, Barnes.  Real suave.

“Sure,” Rhodes said.  “Just let me finish San Francisco.”  Rhodes went on to blow up some weapons platforms, battle a tank, and destroy half of Chinatown before what was left of San Francisco was saved from Bucky wasn’t sure what, exactly, and Rhodes saved his game and put the controller down.  “What’s your problem, Barnes?”

Bucky stepped a few feet into the room so Rhodes wouldn’t have to crane his neck to talk to him.  “Arm’s acting up,” he said.  “Started acting funny after I fell on it when I was sparring with Steve, but I think this is one of those straw that broke the camel’s back deals, because it’s been through a lot worse than that with no problems.”

“Okay,” Rhodes said thoughtfully.  “You know I’m not a prosthetics expert, right?  Aerospace is more my area.  Your arm doesn’t fly or shoot rockets, does it?”

“If it does, HYDRA never told me,” Bucky said.  “But I think it is technically a high-end experimental weapon, if that’s more your area than robot arms.”  He sighed.  “I don’t expect a complete overhaul.  But I would really appreciate it if you’d just take a look, make sure the wiring isn’t about to set itself on fire or anything like that.”

“Sure, I can do that.  But I’m gonna need tools and better lighting.  You mind taking this to one of the labs?”

Bucky minded.  Oh boy, did he ever.  But Rhodes had a point, and he was the one doing Bucky a favor.  “Sounds good,” Bucky said, possibly the biggest whopper he’d told since he got his marbles back.  “You got anywhere in mind that doesn’t look too much like a mad scientist’s lair?”  Bucky hoped he sounded bright and breezy and not full of suppressed terror.

“I know a place,” Rhodes said.  Rhodes got up and headed out the door towards the technical wing of the Avengers’ facility, followed by Bucky, who was doing his best impression of a calm, collected person with a proportionate and reasonable attitude toward laboratories and medical attention.

Thankfully, the room Rhodes picked out resembled a disconcertingly neat workshop or a really futuristic kitchen with no food more than a medical facility or some place you’d build Frankenstein’s Monster.  Bucky set Punk down and the little dog trotted around sniffing at the cabinets and appliances and looking confused, probably because of how sterile and unnatural everything smelled.  “How’d you wind up with a dog like that, anyway, Barnes?” Rhodes asked, looking on bemusedly.

“Found this little goofball on a roadside in the Southwest,” Bucky said.  “We were miles from civilization and my life had been kinda lacking in cute little sources of aggravation since Steve got big, so I took him with me.”

“Does Captain America know you replaced him with a purse dog?” Rhodes asked.

“He’s found the strength to go on.”

Rhodes searched through a few drawers and cabinets and took out a toolkit and some mysterious modern electronic device.  “I found what I’ll need,” he said.  “You ready?”

Hell no.  But Bucky nodded, pulled off his shirt, and sat down.  

“Where’s your problem?” Rhodes asked.

“Back of my shoulder.  Upper arm,” Bucky said, willing himself not to dig his metal fingertips into the countertop.  It was made out of some granite-like material that looked sturdy, but Bucky wasn’t certain how hard it was, and it was just rude to leave gouges in other people’s workspace.

“Does your shoulder open up?”

“The individual plates can come off.  One of the ones around my shoulder blade is a little bent out of shape, you’re gonna have to wiggle it.”

“I hear you.”  Rhodes paused a moment.  “Let me know if you need a break, Barnes.”

Dammit, had Bucky been that obvious?  Rhodes was career military and had seen shell-shock before.  He was probably going to catch on eventually.  “Shouldn’t be an issue, but thanks.”

The mysterious electronic thingamajig turned out to be some kind of portable scanner.  Rhodes ran it over Bucky’s shoulder and arm and up popped a little holographic image, which Rhodes separated into displays of his arm’s skeleton, real and artificial muscle, wiring, and plating.  Under different circumstances Bucky would have been fascinated.  Rhodes expanded the wiring display, frowned, rotated it, muttered something about spaghetti, and then split that image into two separate pictures.  “I think I’ve got it.  Barnes, I’m going in.”  Bucky nodded and really wished he had something cold to rest his forehead against.

Bucky felt Rhodes fiddling with the plates on his shoulder and the phantom sensation of cold air against his neck that always accompanied his arm getting opened up and _breathe, Barnes, you asked him to do this, remember?  This is an ally and a trustworthy human being.  He’s just patching you up so your arm will stop zapping you.  Look around, no I.V.s, no guards, no Chair, no restraints, no handler.  You. Are. Fine._

Something was headbutting his foot.  Bucky looked down and noticed Punk standing with his front legs braced on the crossbar of the stool Bucky was sitting on, thumping his tail impatiently.  Bucky looked down at his hands: no blood, dust, paint chips, or tiny shards of glass.  Reassuring.  Rhodes had put his tools away and was looking at Bucky with friendly mild concern, but nothing more than that.  Good.  Bucky tolerated mother-henning from two people: Sam and Steve, and Steve only when he could keep his guilt issues from boiling over.  “You checked out there for a minute, Barnes,” Rhodes said.

“It happens,” Bucky said.  At least lately it hadn’t led to him punching anyone, smashing anything, or running for the hills.  “Just something so hypnotic about granite countertop patterns, you know.”  He smiled wearily.  “Are we done?”

“We’re done.  But I’d like to see you use your arm before you go, just to make sure everything’s hooked up properly.”

“Sure.”  Bucky put his shirt back on, which made him feel a bit better, and then spent a couple minutes stretching, flexing, wiggling his fingers, and lifting small objects around the lab.  “Reflexes still seem a bit slower,” he told Rhodes, “And I think my fingers are still a little stiff, but my range of motion’s fine, and the pain’s all gone.”  Well, the ubiquitous low-grade upper back pain from a giant chunk of metal hanging off one side of his body was still there, but Rhodes had no control over that, and Bucky was used to it by now.

Rhodes nodded with the expression of someone who was hearing about what he expected.  “I didn’t like the look of some of those neural connection points - I think that’s what they were - but they didn’t look like they were causing any immediate problems and I didn’t want to be messing with the stuff directly connected to your body without knowing what I’m doing.  You’re going to want to talk to Tony when he comes in tomorrow.  He’s got a lot more experience with cybernetics.”

Bucky’s heart sank.  He’d made it through one maintenance session without incident, but two in two days was pushing it.  But it probably would be good to get a professional opinion.  “I’ll think about it.  Thanks, Rhodes.  I owe you one.”

“No problem, man.  People hardly ever ask for my help with tech issues.  Most of the time it’s just ‘hey, Rhodey, I’m in over my head again, come help me kick some ass.’”

Bucky didn’t really feel up to laughing at the moment, but he had to smile at that.  “I’ve been there.”

Punk was starting to get antsy, and Bucky wasn’t feeling too steady himself, so he went straight back to his rooms and started rummaging in the fridge of his and Steve’s little shared kitchenette.  They still had a couple bottles of the good kind of ginger ale, thank god.  Bucky took slow sips until the queasy clenched shakiness abated, and then used the rest of the bottle to wash down a protein bar.  He felt better, but the lack of physical distractions just meant his brain could really dig in.

Tony Stark.  Howard’s kid.  Bucky had a few intact memories of Howard - a flying car, some in-joke about fondue, a couple long nights in the workshop when neither of them could sleep, his thing for Peggy Carter that he tried to laugh off and downplay and his thing for Steve that he never mentioned out loud.  Bucky had no idea what Stark Junior was like, except that he was an inventor and a damn good one by all accounts, he was technically a retired superhero but nobody would be particularly shocked if he decided to un-retire, and he had flashy tastes, a knack for antagonizing people, and more money than Daddy Warbucks.  Bucky wanted a little more than that to go on if the guy was going to be taking his arm apart.  He decided to ask Sam.  Sam was pretty observant as far as people were concerned, but not in the scary way Natasha could be, and he didn’t sugar-coat or hold pointless grudges.  Bucky tracked Sam to the gym, where he was doing some cool-down stretches.  “Hey, Sam,” Bucky said.  “I need to take advantage of your knowledge of human nature.”

“I told you, Bucky, I’m happy to help, but you and Steve still gotta learn to talk to each other about what’s bugging you like sensible adults.”

“Steve and I are great right now.  This is for something else.  What’s Tony Stark like?” Bucky asked.

“Glad to hear it.  Okay, Tony’s the kind of guy who can be a lot of fun or the most annoying person on Earth, depending on the kind of mood you’re both in,” Sam said.  “Super smart, in an intelligence is not the same as wisdom sort of way.  One of those people who needs projects like he needs air.  Kinda reminds me of my sister’s Sphynx cat, in terms of personality.”  Bucky pictured one of those silly-looking hairless cats flying around in a tiny suit of armor chasing missiles and batting them out of the sky.

“That gives me an idea,” Bucky said.  “But do you trust him?”

“Yes.  Mostly,” Sam admitted.  “I trust him with my wings, although I have to be firm with him if I don’t want him going crazy with the upgrades.  And I trust that if a problem is big and important enough that it gets his attention and he starts taking it seriously, he’ll do his best to do the right thing.  But he can be kind of an ass about more minor stuff.”

“I think I can live with that,” said Bucky.  “I mean, I’m fucked up, but I can handle a playboy mechanic making fun of me.”

“Bucky, you’re one of the most resilient people I know and you’ve dealt with Cap at his most impossible,” Sam said.  “I have faith in you.”  Bucky wondered, sometimes, if Sam said things like that on purpose to nudge people into trying to live up to his good opinion of them, or if Sam just thought he was being encouraging.  He had the same questions about some of Steve’s speeches.  Honestly, those two deserved each other.

Bucky went back to his room and looked up Stark Junior on the internet.  Lots of articles from business and technology magazines - Bucky was pleased to find out that _Popular Mechanics_ was still in print - lots of salacious gossip, although the really juicy stuff seemed to have slowed down after his relationship with his gal Friday went public, and, finally, a biographical sketch.  Tony Stark was in his mid-forties - which meant that Howard had taken a surprisingly long time to settle down, when Bucky did the math.  He’d been some kind of boy genius as a kid, had spent his twenties and thirties making money, inventing things, and tomcatting around worse than Howard ever had, and turned his life around after he was kidnapped by some radicals - not HYDRA-related as far as Bucky could tell - who wanted to force him to make weapons for them.

Bucky could relate.  Stark Junior came out of the whole thing looking rather better than Bucky had, since he’d managed to cobble together an escape plan that actually worked and hadn’t spent seventy years as their brainwashed weaponsmith.  Bucky wondered if that was a sign of Stark’s superior ingenuity or just an advantage of being captured by people who needed you with all your marbles intact.  Maybe what his Ma had told his sisters was right - it really was better to be loved for your mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhodey is playing a real game, the notorious "Metal Wolf Chaos." It's not easy to get in the US, but when you're friends with Tony Stark I don't see that being a problem.


	2. Chapter 2

Tony Stark arrived the next morning - surprisingly early, since Bucky had been building a mental picture of him as one of those “work or play all night, sleep till noon” types.  He really did look a lot like his dad, but less well-dressed and a bit shorter.  After the initial pleasantries - Steve and Sam were civil enough, Natasha seemed more interested in how his girlfriend was doing, the twins made themselves scarce, and Rhodes and Vision were genuinely friendly - Stark Junior picked up what looked like an exceedingly modern shiny metal briefcase and headed for one of the bigger mechanics labs, followed by Rhodes, Sam, and Natasha.  Bucky trailed stealthily after them.  He wasn’t seriously trying to conceal himself, but with Stark Junior talking a mile a minute to Rhodes about his latest project, it wasn’t hard for Bucky not to attract attention.

First order of business was Stark Junior trying to sell Sam on some new upgrades to the Falcon suit.  Sam was less than enthusiastic.  “I really don’t think I need this, Tony.  It’s a cool idea, but I’m the one who’s gotta steer this thing, and I don’t see a way to do the firing mechanisms like you’re talking about without making the wings harder to control.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Stark Junior -Tony - said.  “You don’t have to find a way.  I’m the technological genius here.  That’s my department.  You just have to learn to fly with it.”

“Yeah, I know.  That’s the problem.  Do you have any idea how much muscle memory it takes to control a winged jetpack without using your hands?  And all the reflexes I have to relearn every time the controls get a drastic overhaul?  Man, if I wanted to put up with that shit I’d get my tech from Microsoft.”

“You wound me, Falcon,” Tony said.  “But fine, no means no, consent is sexy, okay.  No razor flechette feathers for you.  Can I interest you in some lasers?”

“Still not certain that wing-mounted weaponry is the way to go, but if they’re light and won’t throw the balance off I’ll consider it,” Sam said.

“I have some ideas we can talk about later.  Right, who’s next?”

Natasha coughed and pointed at Bucky, who had been skulking in a corner of the lab.  Bucky stepped out into the room, desperately wishing he was back in his own suite, and waved awkwardly at everyone with his left arm.

“How the hell did he get in here?” Tony said irately.

“Don’t mind him, Bucky,” Natasha said.  “Tony’s just cranky because now he can’t make a ‘winter is coming’ joke as you walk in.”

“I will neither confirm nor deny that accusation,” Tony said.  He turned to Bucky.  “So you’re the artist formerly known as the Winter Soldier.”  Despite the breezy words, Bucky picked up on a certain chilliness in Tony’s attitude that he hadn’t had while talking to the Avengers.  Bucky had no idea what was up with that.  He was pretty sure he’d never tried to kill the guy.

Play it cool.  “Steve’s the artist, and most people call me Bucky Barnes nowadays, but yeah,” Bucky replied.  He remembered a girl he’d met on his post-HYDRA revenge and self-discovery tour telling him he had “resting murder face,” and tried to soften his glare a bit in case that was the problem.

Tony looked up at Bucky with the most serious expression Bucky had seen on him yet and said “Please tell me you didn’t kill my parents.”

Oh, hell.  He had not seen that coming.  Bucky winced.  “I can tell you that I don’t remember ever killing your dad or anyone who looked like him,” Bucky said apologetically.  “I wish I could be more certain than that.  I’m terribly sorry.”  Tony looked distinctly unsatisfied and about to say something when Natasha interrupted.

“He didn’t,” Natasha said brusquely.  “Howard and Maria Stark died on December 17, 1991, when the Winter Soldier was in cryonic storage in an officially abandoned meteorological research station in Siberia.  The Winter Soldier was sent to the US in February of 1992, as part of a larger program of redistribution of assets and responsibilities between the eastern and western branches of HYDRA in the wake of the collapse of the Soviet Union,” Natasha recited, as if she were repeating a lesson from a schoolbook.  From what Bucky knew about Natasha’s upbringing and education, maybe she was.  

“Besides,” Natasha continued, in a more natural tone of voice, “It just doesn’t make sense.  I’ve seen his file.  If you read between the lines, HYDRA did not want to trigger any memories of the Winter Soldier’s former life.  In seventy years under HYDRA’s control, he had  _ one _ mission in New York, and it was nowhere near Brooklyn.  They wouldn’t send him after one of his old friends when they had plenty of much less distinctive-looking assassins capable of taking out a seventy-four year old businessman.  Nobody needs super serum and a metal arm to fake a car accident.”  Tony and Bucky just stood there a moment, dazed by the onslaught of information, then exchanged slightly intimidated “how the  _ hell _ does she do that?” looks.

“All right, Furiosa,” Tony said to Bucky.  “Since you didn’t kill my parents, we can skip the Inigo Montoya drama-” Tony paused significantly, and Bucky sighed and nodded.

“I’ve seen  _ The Princess Bride _ .”

“-and get on with the fun stuff, like taking a good look at that sexy metal arm of yours.”

“Why Mr. Stark,” Bucky said, “This is all so sudden.”

“Don’t get too excited,” Tony said.  “I’m not interested in the rest of you.  I already have a girlfriend, and Pepper and I haven’t had the polyamory talk - wait, you’re from the forties, do you even know what that is? And-”

“I’ll find a way to carry on somehow,” Bucky said dryly.  “Could we just get on with it and fix my arm already?”

“No problem, RoboCop.  Sit down, take your shirt off, and prepare for your mind to be blown.”

“Not helping your case, Stark,” Bucky teased as he pulled his shirt off.  Bucky really hoped that his y-back undershirt wouldn’t get in Tony’s way, since he wasn’t enthusiastic about the idea of being half-naked while a mad scientist near-stranger worked on him, even if in this case the mad scientist was relatively friendly.

“How the hell did someone like you wind up BFFs with Captain Star-Spangled Stick In The Mud?” Tony grumbled, as he opened his shiny briefcase and took out a toolkit and something that looked like a big metal box.

“Steve’s a lot more fun when he doesn’t feel like he has to be the official responsible adult,” Bucky said.  “What’s that?” he asked, gesturing at the metal box.

“The future!”  Bucky wasn’t sure what could be more futuristic than living under the same roof as robot Superman, but he was curious about what was so darn special about that box.  Tony hefted the box onto the workbench - he seemed pretty strong for a guy his size, but the thing looked heavy - flipped some switches, and the box began unfolding and reshaping itself.  In about a minute Bucky was looking at a metal breadbox on tank treads, with a claw arm and some kind of periscope or camera on a stick attached to the chassis and a kind of tray-like structure on its back.  When it had successfully assembled itself, it chirped triumphantly and swiveled its camera-eye to look around the room.  

“Meet TIN-E.  He’s an experimental model, so please try not to step on him, it could corrupt the data,” Tony said.  The little robot trundled over to Bucky, lowered his arm, and beeped impatiently.  Bucky took the hint and held his hand out, and TIN-E grabbed one of Bucky’s fingers in his claw.

Well, that had to be one of the cutest things Bucky had ever seen.  “Hello, little fella,” he said, as he “shook hands” with the robot.  “Where’d you get such nice manners?”

“Pepper taught him to do that,” Rhodes said.  “She thinks if the bots had better social skills it might rub off on Tony.”  Tony glared at him but did not actually attempt to argue.

“Now, much as I’d love to dive right in and get up close and personal with that beautiful arm of yours, I am going to do this like a strict professional-” Bucky heard undignified suppressed giggles from Natasha’s corner “and take a case history.”  Tony took out something that looked like a miniature version of the scanner Rhodes had used and plugged it into a port on TIN-E’s eyestalk.  “TIN-E, initiate scanning on that guy’s-” he gestured toward Bucky- “arm.” TIN-E chirped brightly and began running the scanner diligently over Bucky’s right arm.  “No, the other arm.”  Tony turned to Bucky.  “So, tell me about your robot arm while TIN-E scans you.  But could you make it quick?  I don’t have a great attention span for small talk.”  

“I don’t really know much about how it works.  HYDRA didn’t exactly give me a manual.  Um, I think it gets its power off me somehow.  At least it gets less cooperative if I haven’t eaten for a long time.  I don’t know what the metal is, but it doesn’t rust.  It overlaps with the top of my left arm and my shoulder and they put in some, uh, reinforcements so it doesn’t pull itself off.”  Bucky was not going to say any more about that part.

“Very cool, fascinating, if I want more technical details I’ll look at it myself,” Tony said.  “But what’s it like to use?”

Bucky was tempted to say that it was hell on his back and a constant reminder of experiences he’d rather forget, but good for opening stubborn jars.  “Okay, it’s a lot stronger than my other arm, but a hair slower.  Spacial whatsit is fine.  I don’t have any trouble keeping track of the damn thing.  I can feel pressure well enough, unless I’m really distracted, and I can tell when I’m touching something, but it can’t really feel textures.  If something hits the plating hard I can feel it, but it doesn’t hurt unless something affects the wiring.  Fine coordination’s okay, I guess.  Maybe a little clumsier than normal, but not enough to be a problem.  Goes to crap when the wiring’s bad, though.”

Tony looked simultaneously intrigued and impressed.  “Damn, if you had to have your arm replaced by an evil scientist working for a worldwide Fascist conspiracy, you picked the right guy.  How long have you had it?”

Bucky was tempted to point out that choice had nothing to do with it, but he knew he needed to save his energy for the upcoming ordeal and not waste it on arguing.  “Since the late forties, I guess.  It wasn’t like HYDRA let me have a calendar.  They made some changes over the years, but it’s still the same arm.  The thing’s attached to my body.  They couldn’t just take it off and snap on something new on a whim.  We’re not talking about Tinkertoys here.”

“Holy Wolfenstein, Batman,” Tony said.  “Clearly, someone who isn’t a megalomaniac science Nazi needs find a way to reverse-engineer this stuff for the benefit of humanity.”  Sam coughed significantly.   “If that’s okay with you, of course.”

“I have a general policy against letting people experiment on me for the greater good,” Bucky said.  “But if you want to take some pictures, be my guest.”  By this time, TIN-E had finished scanning Bucky’s hand and most of his arm, and the little robot had trundled up to the edge of the table and was craning his eyestalk trying to reach Bucky’s shoulder.  Bucky obligingly slumped down.  “By the way,” Bucky said.  “Did you want to know what my problem was, or do you think you’ll be able to figure that out yourself just by looking at the x-rays?”

“Oh, right, I should probably do that.  Where does it hurt, Gray Fox?”

Bucky had been compared to raccoons and stray cats before, but foxes were new.  Probably some modern cultural reference.  “It’s okay for now.  I fell in the gym when I was sparring and it messed up the wiring, but Rhodes fixed that.  But he wanted you to take a look because he had concerns about the neural hookups and you’ve got more experience with machinery that’s physically connected to people.”

Tony grinned.  “Rhodey bear, you know what I like.”  Rhodes shook his head with resigned amusement.  At that moment, TIN-E finished scanning Bucky’s arm and chirped a triumphant little fanfare.  Tony turned to the onlookers.  “This will take a while, so you can all go grab some lunch or something.”

Sam caught Bucky’s eye and shrugged very slightly.  Bucky smiled, nodded, and hoped that he looked more confident than he felt.  It must have worked, because Sam left when Natasha and Rhodes did.  Bucky briefly wished that Sam or Natasha had stayed, but he was not going to monopolize his friends’ free time just because of his stupid nerves.  If it came to it, Bucky knew he could take down a 170-pound unenhanced civilian even with his left arm deactivated.  Which he was not going to need to do, because Tony was not an enemy, dammit, and was not going to do anything worse than maybe get a little fresh with his left arm.  

“Everything all right in there?” Tony asked.  “Because I have got to say, you are working that thousand-yard stare.”

“Sorry.  Maintenance just isn’t my favorite thing, that’s all.”

“No problem.  Just let me know if you need a break or a juice box, okay?  ‘Punched in the face by triggered hypoglycemic super soldier’ is not on my bucket list.”  

Wow, that was almost tactful by Tony’s standards.  “I’ll do my best,” Bucky said.  He couldn’t promise anything more than that, since his brain didn’t always warn him when it wanted to check out.  

That must have been good enough for Tony, because he turned to TIN-E, plugged something into a little port on the robot’s side, and said “Display the scans of the upper arm and shoulder.”  A grid of tiny floating pictures of the inside of Bucky’s arm popped up, each one sharply detailed despite its size.  Bucky had no idea how Tony decided which pictures were worth a closer look, since at that size it all looked like a bunch of wires to him, but Tony was definitely flicking through them with something specific in mind.  

Tony finally found the picture he was looking for and enlarged it - more wiring, with something more solid - ergh, was that bone? - at the edge, and some thicker strands of golden metal connecting the wires with the remains of his original arm.  Tony’s eyes lit up.  “Well what do we have here?  TIN-E, where’d you take this one?”  TIN-E scooted a little closer and patted a spot on Bucky’s upper arm with his claw.  “TIN-E, get me the small toolbox and the scopes.”  TIN-E trundled off cheerfully and Tony turned to Bucky.  “And you - are you sure you don’t want a drink before the fun starts?” 

Bucky was sorely tempted, even if alcohol in normal amounts didn’t do much for him nowadays, but Tony did not strike him as the kind of guy who appreciated being the only sober person in the room.  Especially not if he was the one supplying the booze.  And Bucky didn’t want to be worked on by a drunk mechanic, genius or not.  “Probably shouldn’t.”

“Suit yourself.”  TIN-E, who had returned from his errand with a bunch of stuff resting on the back of his chassis, tugged on Tony’s t-shirt impatiently.  “Hey!” Tony said.  “Remember what I told you about personal space?”  He picked up what looked like a keyring with more little gadgets and push-button things than actual keys on it, glared at it, and then glared down at the little robot.  “And why did you bring this over?  Did I ask for my keys?”  TIN-E’s camera drooped.

“Don’t be too hard on the little guy,” Bucky said.  “It’s small and it has tools on it.”

“I guess the price of true artificial intelligence is the potential for true artificial stupidity,” Tony said.  He picked up a little case off of TIN-E’s chassis and took out some kind of small screwdriver.  “If you sit down here kind of perpendicular to the bench, I’ll have the best angle to get to your arm and you can lean on your right side if you like.  Unless war heroes of the Greatest Generation don’t lean.”

“Been a long time since I was any kind of hero,” Bucky said dryly, as he shifted his position.

“Hey, we all have terrible pasts,” Tony said.  “Okay, almost all of us: Rhodey and your buddy Wilson are aggravatingly good at keeping their shit together and Vision hasn’t been around long enough.  Welcome to the club.”

“Thanks, I guess.”  

“Any time, Terminator.  You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”  Bucky braced himself and tried to think about relaxing things while Tony pulled on a pair of thin rubber gloves and began unscrewing the plating on his upper arm.

“Can you feel this?” Tony asked.

“Not exactly,” Bucky said.  “I know that something’s touching the plating, but that’s about it.  It doesn’t-”  _ feel like you’re taking my skin off _ , Bucky thought, but that’s not the kind of thing you say out loud to other people in polite society.  “-hurt.”  

“That’s good.  I wouldn’t want you to have to safeword before things get interesting.”  Tony carefully lifted off a piece of plating and handed it to TIN-E.  “Make sure these things stay together.  We don’t want to have to patch him up with duct tape.”  TIN-E beeped his agreement.

After Tony had unscrewed enough plating to make a gap in Bucky’s upper arm a couple of inches wide, he picked up one of the tools resting on TIN-E’s chassis - a long snakey thing - hooked it up to one of his little three-d projectors, and began threading it through the internal structure of Bucky’s arm.  “If you feel  _ anything _ , let me know,” Tony said.

“No, everything’s fine for now.”  Tony snaked in a little more of that long-tailed scope thing, and another floating image of the inner workings of Bucky’s arm popped up - this time of a much smaller section in sharper detail.  The whole process left Bucky feeling a little queasy, but he had to admit, it was interesting at the same time.  Modern technology sure could do some amazing things.  When this was all over he needed to ask Tony if they’d finally got the logistical issues of flying cars licked.

Tony sent the scope in a little further.  “Okay, I felt that,” Bucky said.  

“I see I’ve hit a nerve,” Tony deadpanned.

Bucky shook his head.  “Did you volunteer to fix my arm just so you could say that?”

“I refuse to dignify that with a response,” Tony said.  He expanded the new projector display and examined it carefully.  “Ha!  Found it!”  Tony grinned at Bucky in a way that was only slightly maniacal and rotated the display so he could have a better view.  “See how the wires attached to those little golden tentacles are looking frayed and out of whack here?”  Bucky nodded. Tony set the scope down and got out something that looked like a couple of crochet hooks attached to cables hooked up to a little box.  “Just mending the wires - piece of cake.  I could do  _ that _ when I was fifteen and hadn’t had more than half an hour of sleep in the last two days.”  Bucky thought that was an oddly specific reference and wondered about Tony’s upbringing.  “The fun part is going to be figuring out how the nerves on this thing work.”

“Don’t take all day, Tony.  I’m not your only customer.”

“Buzzkill.  TIN-E, a little light here?”  The little robot picked up a tiny flashlight, turned it on, and shone the beam inside Bucky’s arm.  Bucky was familiar with modern keychain flashlights, but this one’s light was a lot more powerful.  Bucky wondered if Tony had custom-built it.  Something about the beam of light made the shadows seem darker by contrast and made the gap in Bucky’s arm, which he knew was only a few inches deep, seem weirdly cavernous.  Bucky felt slightly ill and turned away quickly.  Tony didn’t seem to notice and kept poking around with his crochet hooks.  “Can you feel this?”

Bucky couldn’t, really, except as a sense of proximity, but his fingers twitched involuntarily.  “Houston, we have a motor neuron,” Tony said gleefully.  “Open edit mode.”  He turned to the projected picture of Bucky’s arm and began wiggling his finger over it, which somehow turned a length of wire bright green.  Tony poked at another wire, and Bucky yelped a little.  It didn’t hurt, exactly, but he definitely felt that.  

“Hope I didn’t zap you there, Häagen-Dazs.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” Bucky explained.  “It felt more like someone poking me with icy cold hands.  But without the sensation of cold, as such.”  Tony grinned and colored a wire bright red.  

After several minutes’ worth of repeated poking around, Tony had a festive-looking three-d map of the wiring in Bucky’s upper arm, and Bucky’s patience was starting to wear thin.  “Hey, Tony, I know you’re making great strides in science and all, but could you give me some kinda ETC here?”

“And here I thought snipers were supposed to be patient,” Tony said long-sufferingly.

“Even we have our limits,” Bucky said.  “Unlike gearheads who just got their hands on something interesting.”’

“Five minutes, Bucky,” Tony said.  Ooh, real names, he must be serious.  “I can patch your wiring up now, then give me five minutes - I can have TIN-E run a timer if you like - to take readings.  I think this tech could improve the lives of so many people.”  For such a wiseacre Tony could do surprisingly effective puppy eyes.

“Okay, five minutes.”  Honestly, this was like trying to make his little sisters go to bed.

Tony took out a pair of needle-nosed pliers and a roll of something that looked a bit like long macaroni and started fiddling with the inner workings of Bucky’s arm again, with more focus this time.  Bucky tried to watch at first, but the sight of someone poking at a big hole in his arm made him feel just a bit queasy.  Fortunately, Tony got the job done quickly - it was amazing how fast the guy could work when he wasn’t running his mouth.

“And, we’re done!” Tony said with a flourish.

“Done-done, or just done with the practical stuff and now it’s time for the fun part?” Bucky asked.  Because he had a pretty good sense of time, when his brain was cooperating, and that had not been five minutes, and Tony was not the kind of guy who would voluntarily cut short his chance to play with something interesting.

“Hey, no need to shower me with medals and bouquets, I do this for the good of humanity and scientific progress.”

Really.  “And I’m sure they appreciate it.  You’ve got five minutes, Tony.”

“Fine,” Tony sighed.  “TIN-E, bring up the timer.”  A little floating display like a modern digital clock popped up over the little robot’s projector.  Tony took out some tools that Bucky did not recognize at all and grinned.  “Let’s do science.”

Tony was a lot quieter when he was on a time limit, but he had a very expressive face and lit up like a Christmas tree when he found something interesting.  Bucky wondered what could make a guy who built intelligent robots and treated portable hologram generators like screwdrivers that excited, and whether he’d understand a word of it if he asked Tony to explain.  The timer beeped, and Tony set his tools down and plugged a cable from one of them into his StarkPad.  Despite the interruption, Tony was grinning like a loon.  

“Found what you were looking for?” Bucky asked.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” Tony said.  He retrieved the pile of plating from TIN-E and began putting the outer layer of Bucky’s arm back together while the little robot supervised diligently.  “Your arm’s amazing, don’t get me wrong, but people have been making metal arms since the Renaissance.  I’m curious about how HYDRA managed to make something that your own nervous system could control in the 1940s.”

“Don’t leave us in suspense, Tony.”  Bucky and Tony turned toward the source of the new voice, and there was Steve, standing in the doorway with Punk at his heels.  He must have just come in from playing fetch or something because he was still carrying the bag of dog toys.

“Hi, Cap!” Tony said cheerfully.  “Love the purse dog, by the way.  Really softens the whole austere hardass Greatest Generation war hero image.  Makes you much more approachable.  What is that, a Cava-Yorkie-Poo?”

“Actually,” Bucky said, “His name’s Punk, he’s half terrier/half pedigree dust mop, and he’s mine.  C’mere, pup.”  Punk bounced across the laboratory floor before skidding to a stop by the workbench and scrambling into Bucky’s lap.

“Please tell me you carry him around in a black kevlar tactical purse,” Tony said.

“Now why would I do a thing like that?” Bucky said.  “There’d be fur on everything.”

“Ask Paris Hilton.”

Steve cleared his throat.  “As I was saying,” he said in his Team Dad voice, “Are you guys going to be done in time for lunch, or should somebody bring down some sandwiches?”

“We’re almost done,” Bucky said.  “Tony just has to screw a few plates back in.  Right?” 

Tony took the hint and got back to work on the plating.  “You know,” he said, “If you let me make you a house AI you wouldn’t have to run around the base looking for people.  The 21st century is not that scary, I promise.”

Steve looked unimpressed.  “We’ll think about it.”

Tony finished tightening the last screw, set his screwdriver down with a flourish, and started picking up his tools.  It was none too soon, because Punk was getting wriggly and it was increasingly difficult to keep him in one place with only one free arm.  By the time Tony had put away most of his equipment, Punk had wiggled free of Bucky’s lap and jumped onto the table, where the little dog came face-to-camera with TIN-E.  The two little creatures stared at each other in silence for a moment, head and camera cocked in shared confusion.  Then Punk moved in closer to get a good sniff, and TIN-E extended his claw to tap Punk on the nose.  The dog yelped, the robot squealed, and both of them turned and fled to opposite ends of the table.

“Your purse dog is a Luddite,” Tony said.

“Punk’s just not real good with robots,” said Bucky.  “Vision confused the hell out of him at first.  I think it was because he mostly looks and acts like a human but he doesn’t smell like one.”  Bucky paused to give Punk a couple of comforting pats on his empty little head.  “What is going on with my arm, by the way?”

Tony read through something on his StarkPad, grinned, and turned to Bucky.  “I was wondering how HYDRA managed to create a better neural interface than modern high-end prosthetics have, back in the forties.  The answer is they didn’t have to.  I think that part of your arm is repurposed alien technology.”

“Chitauri?” Steve asked.  

“Doesn’t look like any Chitauri tech I’ve seen.  It might be Asgardian.  Dammit, why couldn’t Thor be dating an engineer instead of an astrophysicist?”

“Because if Jane wasn’t interested in weird space phenomena they never would have met, Tony,” Steve said patiently.  

So Bucky wasn’t just a part-robot super soldier shot up with god knows what, he was also part alien.  Or at least some of the wiring in his left arm was.  And he’d thought his life couldn’t get any weirder.

“Bucky?” Steve said gently.  “You all right, buddy?”

“I’m fine, Steve,” Bucky said.  “It’s a lot to take in, but I’m not upset.  Not like I was thinking ‘yes, my robot arm is made from terrible Nazi science, but at least it’s terrible  _ human _ Nazi science.’”

“Great!” said Tony.  “You’re not having an identity crisis, I didn’t get punched in the face, let’s have lunch.  Does anywhere in this town do decent delivery?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first time writing Tony. It was surprisingly fun.


End file.
